Request from @luffys-little-sister-lyloa ! I'm so sorry this took so long and I kind of...ran a bit wild with it! Apologies if you wanted this pre-established I just started writing it and I ended up with angry confused boys...Hope you enjoy <3
Wordcount: 4,845
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The crew is a mess. After the last island, most of them are confined to their beds. Their injuries range from painful breaks to almost fatal wounds. Sanji had spent the last two days being one of the four crewmates able to do anything. Chopper, Brook and Zoro being the other three.
They'd gotten separated on the last island and hadn't faced as much as the others. Sanji had been thrown from a cliff, unconscious while most of his crew was being beaten to an inch of their lives.
He lets out a yelp as the spoon in his soapy hand bends, and then snaps in two. He drops it on the counter, carefully examining his hand to see if he'd bruised or nicked himself.
This is not the time to hurt himself, to draw any attention to himself. He needs to get these dishes clean. He needs to start on dinner. He needs to make snacks to help with recovery. He needs to clean the galley- no, the ship. The whole ship is a mess. He can't have his crew recover in this filthy environment. He needs to do a stock check. Do they have enough of everything? Is there enough food? When can they even risk docking again?
The hot water sears his skin as he dips plate after plate in, scrubbing them until his fingers feel only smooth porcelain, until the dried lumps of food are washed away entirely. He cleans one after another, the pile diminishing slowly as he moves to dry and place them away at the same time.
His legs ache from running, his whole body is bruised from his fall, a headache buzzes just behind his eyes, but he can't stop. He doesn't need to rest; the others need to rest. He needs to be useful, to fucking do something.
He didn't do anything on the last island.
The last dish lands in the cabinet with an echoing clank. Sanji doesn't even pause as he moves for a cloth, washing down the counters of the kitchen. His elbow complains, his shoulder cries in pain as it stretches and the inside of Sanji's cheek bleeds as he gnaws away at it.
The sharp pain is enough to distract him. He just needs to focus.
He brings damp cloths down to the infirmary next, wiping the sweat from his crewmates that have passed out. He stays with Robin who has woken up for a bit. He reads some of her book to her, barely keeping his eyes open as he speaks as clearly and quietly as he can.
She nods off to sleep moments before Sanji is coming close to joining her. He rubs at his eyes, pressing his palms harshly against them. The light from the hall shows dark stars dancing around Sanji. The veil of sleep creeping into his vision.
He ignores the call. There’s still so much to do.
He finds himself standing in the pantry, wondering how he got here. He must have walked. Why doesn't he remember walking?
He stares at the boxes and finds there's a notebook in his hand. Right. He'd grabbed it from his locker.
He pockets it, grabbing the first box of fresh food. He needed to deal with these first, check for mold, plan the next meals around them. He drops them on the kitchen table and jumps as the table rocks against him.
Why did that surprise him?
He opens the lid, ignoring how clunky and strange his hands feel. The lid slides off the bench beside him and onto the ground. Sanji goes bright red from how harshly he jumps at the noise.
He feels drunk. Is this some belated effects of his head injury?
He shakes his head, feeling no shots of pain. He must be fine. He's just tired. His body is tired after two days, that's all. But that's fine, fine, fine, fine. His mind is sharp. He can still help. He can still work. He can't sleep anyways. Not with so much to do.
He just needs to count, to write figures down, some basic maths and move around some heavy boxes. That's nothing. It's nothing compared to what he did in the Baratie. Heck, he usually has to do this work fighting off a hungry Luffy.
Zoro wanders into the galley. He'd been asleep on the deck for most of the day, having taken watch during the night. He'd been vaguely aware of what the crew had been up to, had heard Sanji moving between the galley and the crew, had heard Brook playing his violin from the crow’s nest and had been annoyed several times by Chopper to have his bandages changed.
He assumed Sanji and Chopper had headed to bed. He's meant to take over Brook's watch soon. It's best that the doctor and their second-best fighter, currently upright, are free during the day.
Keeping that in mind, Zoro finds himself blinking slowly in the doorway of the galley. His plan was to grab something strong and head to the crow's nest. He's not expecting Sanji to have forgotten to blow out the lanterns, to have left so much out on the table. He's not expecting Sanji to be standing hunched over a notebook, his visible eye flicking between several open crates and his hand moving aggressively across the open page.
Usually, Sanji would notice Zoro right away. The cook had a sixth sense for people trying to enter his space and he was usually greeted by an insult by now, or a yell to get the fuck out. But the Cook hasn’t noticed him. He seems engrossed in his task.
Zoro watches him from the doorway. The lanterns cast a sharp shadow across the blonde’s face and it’s easy to see the dark circles under his eyes, the fresh litter of bruises that colour his forearms visible from where he’s rolled up his sleeves. He’s sitting hunched for once, always one to keep a good posture, no matter how sore or tired he seems. His hair is greasy, almost sticking to the side of his face where it usually rests, rather than hanging there.
All of these are signs that something is wrong, but what really makes Zoro worry is when he takes a few more loud steps into the room. The Cook jumps, caught off guard, and his eyes flick groggily to Zoro.
“What do you want?” Sanji’s tone is flat, he doesn’t use a nickname or an insult. His cheeks flush pink, like he’s flustered, like he knows he’s been caught out.
“A drink.” A quiet pause stretches, and Zoro feels a twist in his stomach. The request usually brings out a raging fire in the form of the other’s temper. But Sanji just waves a hand towards the liquor trolley, his eyes flicking back to his work.
“What are you doing?” Zoro ignores the invitation to take what he wants and instead wanders over to the table. He receives a half-hearted glare for it but takes it as a win when Sanji just sighs and tosses some fruit back into a box.
“Oh. Is it...okay?” Zoro knows nothing about keeping track of food, beyond knowing what goes off quick on a pirate ship. He couldn’t fathom how Sanji keeps it all in check. He tries to glance at the ledger the cook is scribbling in, but the writing is swirly and looped tightly together and Zoro can’t make any of it out in the dim light.
“We’re fine.” Sanji flinches when Zoro looks sharply at him, the swordsman catching the wobble in his voice, the dread that seeps in because Sanji isn’t certain himself. They have enough food for a while, for at least a couple of weeks. But there’s a hunger gnawing at Sanji, a tension in his clenched fists that says otherwise. He just can’t convince himself that he hasn’t screwed this up. That he won’t wake up tomorrow and find half of their rations gone.
“Good.” Zoro doesn’t argue, doesn’t ask why Sanji seems to be trembling, his leg tapping furiously off the ground. “Then you should go to bed, I can put these away.”
Zoro waves a hand at the few crates still left sitting on the table. Sanji looks at them like he’s seeing them for the first time before his expression hardens again, a scowl directed at Zoro.
“No, you’ll put them back wrong. It’s fine, I’ve some other stuff to do anyways.”
Zoro’s tilts his head and looks at Sanji like he’s lost it. Sanji drags his chair back, standing up and glaring at Zoro.
“What? Go on your watch, Marimo. You’re pissing me off.”
“No?” Sanji squints at Zoro in the low light, staring at him like he’s grown a second head.
“You haven’t slept, have you?” Zoro folds his arm. He reminds Sanji of some disapproving parent.
“What the fuck is it to you, shithead?” Sanji does not have the mental capacity for an argument right now. He needs to get the crates away and then...then he’ll tidy...he’ll clean something.
“Wow, thanks.” Sanji scoffs, ignoring the idiot to pick up the first crate.
Zoro doesn’t let it go. Not when he notices how slow Sanji is moving, how sluggish he is as he tries to find a grip on the box. Without hesitation Zoro slams a hand on the crate, banging it back onto the table
“I said, you’re going to bed.”
“I don’t take orders from you.” Sanji scoffs, dropping the box to grab the opening of Zoro’s green jacket and tug him close enough that Zoro can feel spit hit his chin.
“Captains out cold.” Zoro growls, grabbing Sanji’s wrists, their gazes locking into their usual heated glare. “That means I’m in charge.”
“Bullshit.” Sanji scoffs. Since when has Zoro ever taken charge?
“Mutiny, Cook?” Zoro grins, knowing the best way to handle this is to get the blonde riled up enough to comply.
“You can’t just order me to go to sleep.” Sanji narrows his eye and attempts to pull back, but Zoro keeps him close refusing to drop his wrists.
Sanji let out a long breath through his nose, his frustration building.
“Why do you fucking care?” Sanji snaps, his composure in tatters as he realises he’s shaking. Like he can feel his whole body shaking. It’s the kind of embarrassing energy that makes Sanji want to lash out or cry. He’s not about to cry in front of Zoro of all people.
His leg is swinging before he can think to aim or put any real power behind it. He can’t twist his hips much while being held in place, so he ends up with a weak swipe at Zoro’s shoulder.
The swordsman drops one of Sanji’s wrists to block the kick. Instead of knocking it away, he loops his arm under Sanji’s knee and holds tight.
“Why are you so stubborn!” Zoro groans, dropping Sanji’s leg so he can grab the man by the shoulders and gently shake him.
“Why are you acting like my sleep schedule is any of your business.”
“As if, Marimo. Since when do we care about each other?”
“I’m the first mate, it’s my job to look after the crew.”
“Well, I’m perfectly fine so why don’t you worry about the ones actually injured?”
“You’re shaking, dart brows.”
“It’s cold in here!” Sanji cringes at his own retort, knowing it’s bullshit. The galley is always the warmest room on the ship and tonight was humid, the air stale outside.
“You seriously have the energy for this right now?” Zoro groans, letting go of Sanji’s shoulders to wave his hand angrily in front of his face. “What is so goddamn important it can’t wait until tomorrow? Do you not get we’re the only two that can properly protect the ship right now? I don’t need to be worrying about you too. So, stop acting like a selfish brat.”
The words stung. They cut deeper into Sanji’s soul than anything else the pair have ever thrown at each other. Of course, he understood what was happening. He was ready to beat the crap out of anyone that came near the ship right now. Selfish? Was it selfish to want everything perfect for the crew? Was it selfish to want to make up for how useless he was before, to make it up to his crewmates who couldn’t even lift their heads right now? Did Zoro not get this is all his fault? That he’s meant to be like this now, suffering.
For a haunting moment, Sanji is certain he’s going to burst into tears. His eyes are burning, he can feel a lump in his throat, knows if he speaks again his voice will crack and break. He’s so tired, so fed up with the way his mind is spinning the same thoughts around again and again. He can’t break, not now.
So, Sanji does the only other thing he knows how to do when he’s feeling this much emotion. He lunges at Zoro, swinging his legs in a frenzied rage.
“I’m not asking you to fucking worry about me!” Sanji roars, his shoe smacking satisfyingly into the side of Zoro’s head.
“You Shitty-Cook.” Zoro hisses in pain, his eyes narrowing to angry slits as the pain blossoms across his skull, rattling his teeth. What is wrong with this guy?
“If I have to kick your ass to get you to sleep, I will.” It’s the only warning Zoro gives before he unsheathes his swords.
He lunges low and uses the end of one of his hilts to drive a punch into Sanji’s gut. The Cook wheezes, coughing as he brings his knee up high to deflect the rest of the impact. Zoro manages to lift his head in time to avoid it, his chin just barely brushing off the fabric of Sanji’s pants.
Zoro’s second sword cuts through the air, the blunt side aiming for Sanji’s temple, but the Cook is quicker again. He ducks and uses the momentum to place a hand on the ground and swing his hips fully around, launching both his legs in a hurricane kick at Zoro.
The Swordsman jumps back just in time before both of them rush forward, two swords clashing with a now flaming shin. Zoro is barely breathing, his focus completely on the fight. That’s when he realises just how out of it Sanji is. Operating on pure adrenaline, Sanji's breaths are already labored, and his anchored leg trembles under the strain of supporting his full weight.
“As if you could.” Sanji taunts, trying to keep a veil of confidence between them. His stomach is aching from where Zoro just left a fresh bruise. Usually, the pain would be a comfort, would be something to focus on while fighting but now it felt more like the beginning of the end for Sanji. The room is spinning, he has cotton mouth, his eyes are struggling to focus and keep up with the glint of Zoro’s swords.
“Why-” Zoro pulls his swords out of the ‘X’ position they’re in, drawing them outwards and letting Sanji stumble forward, the Cook losing the place he’d been leaning all his weight on.
“-are you pulling this shit right now?”
Zoro leans forward as Sanji stumbles, making sure the other hits face first into his chest. Sanji tries to push off him but for once his feet aren’t co-operating with him. His shin extinguishes as he embarrassingly trips over his own feet.
Zoro uses the misstep to wrap his arms tightly around Sanji, pinning him to his chest while his swords hang in the air either side of Sanji’s head. Sanji tries weakly to break his hold by pushing his back into Zoro’s arms but they’re like two flexible metal rods twisting around him. The position is awkward for his legs too, it’s impossible for Sanji to find enough leverage to get into any of his usual stances.
“Answer me, Cook.” Zoro growls, starting to get genuinely pissed off. He needs to go on his watch, and he needs to know that when his watch is over, Sanji can take over. That someone capable is on standby when Zoro gets his own rest, takes his own breaks. Their crew needs them right now and Zoro has no idea why Sanji is choosing now to be so insufferable. He might just kill the guy if this ends up being about Nami asking him to do her chores or something.
“I’m not-” Sanji struggles in Zoro’s hold as he grits out a response. “-pulling anything, shitty Swordsman. You’re the one being a dick- Fucking, let me go.”
With his strength dwindling Sanji goes for a dirty move, he pushes his knee forward, trying to get Zoro in the groin but he misses, kneeing him hard in the hollow of his hip instead.
“Bastard.” Zoro flinches, his body jerking for a moment as if the Cook had just hit his mark. Zoro drops his swords and uses his hands to twist Sanji around, pulling his back against Zoro’s chest and wrapping his arms around him again, pinning Sanji’s upper body in place and making sure he can’t knee him again.
“See how weak you are right now? You can’t even match me, Ero-Cook. How do you think you’re going to hold up against an actual enemy? Are you really this stupid?”
“Shut up!” Sanji yelps, doing his best to struggle against the wall of muscle behind him. He tries to dig his heels into the ground to get some kind of momentum to push off, but all his limbs are starting to feel like they’re submerged in water. It’s like he’s coordinating himself in slow motion.
“Let me go you fucking brute.” Sanji slams his head back against Zoro’s shoulder, his frustration boiling over.
“Did you hit your head when you fell from that cliff? I think it’s given you brain damage.” Zoro growls in his ear, tightening his grip enough that Sanji is gasping for his next breath, his ribs pushing against his lungs.
Sanji flinches at the comment. He barely remembers the fall. One moment he was rushing towards the crew as a devil fruit user pounded into Chopper and Robin and the next moment he was being pushed by a force he couldn’t even see. He’d grappled with the rock the whole way down, desperate to stop his fall but then there was a sharp pain cutting into the back of his head and the next thing he knew he was waking up back on top of the cliff, lying on the ground beside his other injured crewmates.
Zoro is still talking in his ear, but Sanji can’t discern his words anymore. The world around him begins to blur, and the once distinct lanterns in the galley transform into mere shards of light, losing their clear definition. Their white haze fogs Sanji’s view, making everything look strange and further away as the world seems to break into colourful blobs of nothing.
“Are- are you crying?” Zoro splutters, staring over Sanji’s shoulder in disbelief.
Sanji should be embarrassed. His rival, Zoro, is seeing him like this. But now that the dam is broken Sanji doesn’t have the energy to feel humiliated. He can’t stop seeing the blood on the side of Nami’s head, the harboured breathing from Usopp, Chopper clutching his arm as he tried to treat everyone...how much of that could he have prevented?
“Are you more injured than you’re letting on?” Zoro accuses, moving to push Sanji away as the blonde had stopped fighting him, but when Sanji’s knees buckle, he grabs him by the waist again.
“I’m fine.” Sanji insists, only to sob loudly as he tries to take in a deep breath.
“You’re losing it.” Zoro decides, having no idea how to handle Sanji when the other isn’t trying to kill him.
“You’re getting some sleep, Cook. End of story.” Zoro doesn’t leave any room for discussion as he starts marching to the door of the galley. He half-lifts Sanji in front of him, carrying him like a barrel out of the room.
“Stop treating me like a child.” Sanji yelps, feeling winded by the forearms digging into his stomach as he desperately rubs at his eyes.
Zoro must hear the choking in his speech because Sanji feels him moving his arms. A part of him is relieved at the idea of Zoro getting the fuck away from him while he’s having a complete mental breakdown, the other part feels a pang of disappointment.
An embarrassing squeal stops Sanji’s train of thought, sadly coming form his own mouth, as one of Zoro’s arms slips lower. Suddenly, Sanji feels the back of his knees being knocked out as Zoro scoops him into his arms bridal style.
“What are you doing?” Sanji snivels, wanting to yell and kick the other in the face, but instead his words are starting to slur. Now that he’s horizontal, he can’t fight his body relaxing, his eye lids drooping as his head hits off Zoro’s chest, his crewmate's heartbeat thumping rhythmically against his ear.
Zoro looks down at Sanji with a raised brow, but Sanji isn’t glaring at him. He’s nestled his face against Zoro’s pec, his breathing evening out as he drifts off to sleep.
Zoro stands there stupidly for a moment. The cook weighs nothing to him but his presence is heavy. His hair is tickling Zoro’s neck and chin, his breaths are hot against Zoro’s skin and Zoro has made the mistake of resting one of his hands on one of Sanji’s bulging thighs. Zoro can feel the back of his neck heat up as his thoughts betray him.
“I have no idea.” Zoro whispers his response to Sanji’s last question, heading towards the Sunny’s crow's nest.
“This isn’t the boy’s room.” Sanji slurs when Zoro knocks the door closed with his foot.
“No shit, dumbass.” Zoro grunts without any real heat behind the words. Sanji seems to pull enough strength together to lift his head because Zoro now has a piercing blue eye glaring at him.
“Wha-whatda I doing ‘ere?” Zoro can’t help but snigger at how incoherent Sanji is becoming. The rumbling of his chest makes the Cook sigh, slouching his head back again.
Zoro does not trust Sanji to stay in bed right now. He is also becoming increasingly concerned that the other has internal bleeding in his brain or something from how he’s acting.
“I’m making sure you sleep so I get to nap after.” Zoro grumbles, moving to drop Sanji on the bench that curves the length of the crew’s nest.
“Prick.” Sanji snorts, making Zoro roll his eyes. He suddenly feels a whole lot better about dumping the Cook on the hard wood planks.
“What the fuck?” Sanji puts a hand up to the back of his head, rubbing at the spot where it connected with the wood while he tries to sit back up.
“Sleep.” Zoro pushes down on one of Sanji’s shoulders and watches with amusement as Sanji’s elbow slips out from under him and he ends up banging his head again.
“Ow, stop doing that.” Sanji waves his hand blindly trying to slap at Zoro but only ends up brushing Zoro’s forearm with the strength of a fatigued kitten.
“And I can’t just sleep on hard wood like you, you neanderthal.”
“What you want a pillow, princess?” Zoro snorts, crossing his arms.
“Yes.” Sanji mumbles, trying to cushion his head on his arms.
Zoro is prepared to turn to the metal bar in the crow’s nest to start his pull-ups but then his eyes catch the glint of still drying tear streaks on Sanji’s cheeks and suddenly he’s feeling the rare emotion of guilt. He had to go and fucking cry, didn’t he?
Zoro channels his frustration into grabbing Sanji by the hair and yanking his head up. The blonde lets out a yelp, trying to grab Zoro’s hand as he thrashes on the bench.
“Calm down, Shit-Cook.” Zoro sits down on the bench, pulling Sanji’s head back down onto his thigh.
Despite how groggy his movements are, it’s obvious how quickly Sanji tenses up.
“What are you doing?” He tries to sit up, but Zoro still has a handful of blonde locks and with a hiss of pain he puts his head back down.
“And you sound like an idiot right now.”
They’re silent for the next minute. Zoro twists his head to look out the window, keeping an eye on the empty sea around them. He’s convinced Sanji has nodded off but then-
“You can let go of my hair now.” Sanji mumbles, his words vibrating off Zoro’s thigh.
Zoro jumps, glaring down at his traitorous hand that’s still gripping Sanji’s hair like a dumbbell.
“Shit, sorry.” He drops the hair, brushing the strands down.
Sanji lets out a low hum at the gesture, surprising them both. Zoro notes how his shoulders drop, his hands unfurl from fists and instead are brought to curl under his chin, as though he’s trying to get comfortable.
So, Zoro doesn’t stop. He pointedly looks back to the window, his cheeks dusted with a light pink that Sanji would have a field day over if he was to look up right now. His fingers card through the long strands, startled to find shorter spikier parts down the Cook’s neck. His nails scratch across skin and Zoro is sure Sanji is going to find some second wind and break his hand with a kick, but it never comes.
He knows the Cook hasn’t fallen asleep. He can tell by the irregularities in his breathing, the way he keeps shifting his weight, the tension that Zoro could cut with one of his swords if he was to try. Zoro has no idea what’s going on in the other’s mind, but he can feel it humming with words, like a frenzied beehive. Just as Zoro is about to lose his patience and threaten to knock Sanji out to get him to sleep, the curly browed idiot breaks the silence.
What the hell does that mean?
Eventually Sanji does pass out. Zoro lets out a long breath he’d been holding back, desperate for a drink but realising he’s not going to be able to get up for anything for the next few hours. He’s still brushing through Sanji’s hair, stupidly mesmerized by how soft it is, how it falls like silk through his fingertips. It’s too intimate for them, Zoro knows this, but he thinks of how stressed Sanji had looked earlier when he was alone in the galley, how small he’d seemed in his arms. A shadow of the man Zoro fought side by side with.
Zoro isn’t someone that’s good at comforting people. He’d never liked being comforted; he’d loathed anyone who had tried to pity him after Kuina, or treated him differently for months because of it. He was always at a loss when someone cried in front of him, glad that in recent times the crew were always there to react instead of him.
Zoro doesn’t know what that excuse means. Why his mind fills in the answer to what the fuck am I doing with it’s Sanji, but it does.
So, Zoro plays with his hair. He swallows hard when a hand snakes its way under his thigh like it’s a damn pillow and he doesn’t move it. He even closes the one open window he was enjoying the breeze from just because the idiot shivers once.
Zoro doesn’t even know why Sanji is upset.
No ships attack in the night.
Most of the crew sleep soundly, recovering in their beds. Tomorrow, Sanji and Zoro won’t bring any of this up. They’ll argue and fight as normal and no one will know what transpired.
But Zoro will know how soft Sanji’s hair is. He’ll know the Cook likes it being played with. He’ll remember the weight of Sanji’s head on his lap and the weight in his chest that lifted just watching Sanji drift off.
Sanji will be rested. He’ll forgive himself, and he’ll get back to his usual routine. He’ll panic about what happened for weeks after, burning with shame and tip toeing around Zoro until the Swordsman pisses him off enough that the awkwardness disappears completely, and he’ll remember to.
He’ll remember what it was like to be forcefully cared for. To have someone argue through his self-sacrificing bullshit and demand he do what’s best for him. To have someone watch over him when all he wanted was to be left alone.
Next time, they’ll both remember.
